


apple of my eye

by mwestbelle



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Burping, Domestic, Established Relationship, Feedism, M/M, Stuffing, eating contest, summerchubbin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 06:07:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4694948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mwestbelle/pseuds/mwestbelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky go to the fair and enter a pie-eating contest. (Written for the summerchubbin challenge.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	apple of my eye

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the summerchubbin prompt of "eating contests." This one actually was inspired by an anonymous prompt asking me for "AU where Steve and Bucky live in the country and have an eating contest at a county fair and break records."
> 
> This work features erotic overeating and fat fetishization. Please take care of yourself if this is content that might upset you!

Bucky wakes up to the scent of bacon and fresh ground coffee, hashbrowns sizzling away in the pan, the sound of Steve singing to himself, low and smooth. His stomach growls, and he groans, stretching out in bed.

Steve's pulling a pan of fresh, fluffy biscuits out of the oven when Bucky walks into the kitchen.

Bucky waits until the hot pan is safely out of Steve's hands before coming up behind him and sliding his hands around his trim waist, resting one palm against Steve's abs."What's all this, darlin'? You trying to sabotage me?"

"I'm wounded." Steve presses his hand over Bucky's. "Can't even make a 'good luck' breakfast for my man without _scurrilous_ accusations regarding my motives?"

"Uh-huh." Bucky takes a deep whiff of the biscuits and bacon. Steve certainly knows his weaknesses. "I don't think a hearty breakfast is the usual way to wish someone well in an _eating_ contest." He leans in closer, the curve of his gut pressing against Steve's back. "But it does seem like a dirty-ass trick that a low-down cheater might pull if he's feelin' a little unsure of his chances"

"I ain't scared of you, Barnes." Steve chuckles and gives Bucky's hand another pat. "But if you think that a tiny bit of breakfast is enough to ruin your chances, then by all means, skip it."

Bucky plants a wet kiss just under Steve's ear before releasing him. "When have you ever known me to skip breakfast?"

*

Bucky is still feeling overstuffed and greasy by the time they load the dogs into their pick-up and get on the road. He's never been able to resist Steve's cooking, and he's even less able to resist his smile. That damned cheater had beamed away, insisting that biscuits are never as good after they cool and tipping the last few from the basket onto his plate. And of course, there's sense in eating biscuits if they're not slathered in butter or dragged through the last shiny spots of bacon grease on his plate. Luckily they live far enough out that it's a solid hour drive to the fair once you factor in the time it takes to park. He tips his seat back and rests his hands on top of his belly. It's comforting, and he hopes that at least the bloat will go down by the time they get to the fair.

The ride's a little bumpy until they reach the highway, but Bucky's used to it. Steve turns up the radio and croons along with it. He always sings on the way to the fair, and the summer air is deliciously hot, ruffling Bucky's hair. He closes his eyes and lets himself drift; not quite asleep, but not exactly paying attention either. 

He wakes up when Buddy presses his cold nose against his neck from behind the passenger's seat. They're idling in the line for the parking lot, and Bucky sits up with a grunt. He's feeling way less full now; actually, he's pretty hungry. He slips his hand under the hem of his shirt, scratching idly at his belly. "Did I miss much?"

"Nah. We're cutting it a little close." Steve's got his hat pulled low to shade his eyes, his arm hanging out the side of the truck. He looks hot as hell, and Bucky's got half a mind to ask if he wants to blow off the whole contest and just cuddle in the back of the truck for a while. Wouldn't be the first time.

But they wait all year for this, and Bucky is feeling a bit peckish. There will be plenty of time for canoodling when the contest is over. 

They finally park, and Bucky wrangles the dogs, getting them leashed and straightening their bandannas. Star pants happily in his face as he tightens hers, and Buddy gives of a woof of what Bucky has to assume is approval once he's set. 

"Pretty as a picture," Steve says, smirking. 

"Gotta keep our kids lookin' nice, don't I?" Bucky scratches Buddy's ears and stands, offering Steve Star's leash.

They make a beeline for the pavilion where the contests are held. There's already a decent crowd gathered, people milling around. The long table on the stage is covered in a red checked tablecloth, and just behind wait the coolers that Bucky knows are packed full of pie. His stomach grumbles like his massive breakfast was nothing; Steve hears, of course, and elbows him. 

"Told you it wasn't sabotage. I got you all warmed up."

"Yeah, yeah." Bucky licks his lips. "We'll see." 

They head over to the edge of the stage where some familiar faces are loitering. Bucky nods to a few who make eye contact. There are always newbies each year, amateurs who want to try their luck, but the core crew doesn't change much. Steve swoops in to give Natasha, the keeper of the clipboard, a big kiss on the cheek while Star snuffles at the toes of her red cowboy boots.

"You still have room on the list for us, ma'am?"

Natasha smirks up at him, poking his chest with her pen. "You cut it closer each year, Rogers. You're lucky you got someone on the inside to save you a spot." She gives him an oversized wink, causing Steve to laugh heartily.

"You're an absolute peach, Nat."

"Don't I know it." She shakes her head and tucks a strand of red hair behind her ear. "Everything's in the same place. Y'all know how it works. There's no leaving the table once we start, so take care of anything you have to now."

"Yes, ma'am," Bucky says. She turns toward him with a big smile.

"And you've done this enough times to know that there are no pets allowed on stage." She holds her free hand out to him. "I'm gonna have to confiscate those."

Steve and Bucky each slip the handle of the leash over her hand. Star and Buddy have spent enough time with Natasha that they just wag their tails.

It's only minutes later that the emcee takes to the stage, and then they're all filing to their places to the sound of hoots from the crowd. No matter how many times Bucky has done this contest, he always feels the hot rush of anticipation once he's actually about to do it. And it's only gotten better since Steve's started competing alongside him.

The first pies are set, and Bucky obediently grabs the back of his chair, just to make sure he doesn't instinctively use one of his hands. He's not about to get disqualified for a stupid technicality like that. He's only vaguely aware that Steve is sitting next to him; he's focused on just one thing now: the plate in front of him.

At the sound of the whistle, he dives in face first. The first pie is blueberry, and he scarfs it down with no problems. Eyes closed against the onslaught of fruit and crust, he knows the next one is there when it thuds down in front of him. It's apple.

Once he gets into the zone, it's almost like an out of body experience. Bucky's not paying attention to the complaints of his belly, which doesn't feel quite so empty any more, or even really too closely to the flavors of the pies. It's all a heady, sweet mix that has him making a few more noises than he usually would in public. But the contest is a special day, and he really wants to show off for Steve. He can't wait to see how Steve fares.

Bucky's not sure how many pies he's eaten by the time he starts to slow down, but he can feel his gut starting to ache, how heavy it sits on his thighs. He's dying to touch his sensitive, swollen skin, but he's not finished yet. He presses forward, even though each bite is starting to feel like a struggle. He swallows thickly, forcing down the last bites from the tin.

He knows he ought to put his hands on the table; he's pretty confident he's already won the contest, his title defended. But something inside him tells him not yet. So he leaves them where they are, and another pie is placed in front of him.

This one is lemon, which he's intensely grateful for. The tartness feels cleansing, cutting through some of the sweet, and for a minute he feels like maybe his hunger could return, like maybe he's not on his last legs. But barely a quarter of the way through, his stomach roils, struggling around the pie overload. He can feel his gut churning, trying to digest, and he has to breathe in deep, swallowing enough air to force out a heavy belch. He could really soothe himself if he could just use his hands, but there's no way in hell he's leaving a pie unfinished. He'd got his pride to think of.

The last pie doesn't go down easy, but it goes down. Once he's nosed his way through the tin to make sure it's completely empty, he leans back in his chair, groaning at the strain on his gut. He feels like he's swallowed a bowling ball or two, and, finally, he sets his hands palms down on the table.

He hadn't noticed that the pavilion was quiet until a rowdy cheer goes up through it. He smiles, despite his overwhelming fullness; sounds like another win.

Someone hands him a wet towel so he can wipe the pastry debris off of his face. Once he can open his eyes again, he blinks at the stack...no, tower of empty pie tins in front of him. He feels, impossibly, even more full looking at it, knowing just how much he's shoved into his poor belly.

"That's right, folks," the emcee is saying, "your winner and still champion, contestant number 4, Bucky Barnes!" There's a hand at Bucky's elbow, and he looks up to see Steve grinning down at him, still a little bit of sugar crumble stuck in his hair. Steve helps hoist him to his feet; the movement resettles the food in his gut, and even Bucky is surprised by the brassy burp that's jostled out of him. The crowd laughs and hoots again, and Bucky wraps one arm under his gut, partially to marvel at the size of it and partially because it's just too damn heavy.

Steve walks Bucky down off the stage, holding tight to his arm as Bucky waddles helplessly along beside him. He accepts congratulations for fellow contestants, including more than a few pats to his immensely overstuffed gut. Every time someone prods a belch out of him, they all snicker. Thankfully after a few minutes of mingling, Steve insists on taking him somewhere he can stretch out and settle.

There's a picnic area behind the pavilion that's mostly abandoned, and Bucky sits down heavily at one of the picnic tables, facing away so he can lean back against the table and take some pressure off his belly. It's not until he's settled in that he remembers to check Steve out; sure enough, he's sporting an impressive little gut himself, the hard ridges of his abs bowed out under his tight t-shirt around a mound of pie.

"How many did you do?"

"Three." Steve presses his hand against the top of his belly with a smug little smile, rubbing idly. "Personal best."

"Nice." Bucky's hit with a cramp, tight and painful in the center of his gut, and he moans. "How many did I do?"

"You don't wanna know right now, baby." Steve licks his lips. He looks like he's about ready to eat Bucky alive, even after three pies. "God, why the fuck can't we just do this at home? We could be in bed right now, y'know."

"Only thing I could use a bed for right now is sleeping." Bucky snorts and pats the top of his belly. He can feel the warm summer breeze on the bottom of his gut where his shirt has ridden up. He's too food drunk to really care if anyone can see.

They rest until Natasha comes out with the dogs in tow. Bucky groans when Star tries to jump up on him, her surprisingly forceful paws hitting him right in the gut. Steve and Natasha both laugh at him, because they're awful. Natasha brought Steve a soda, and Bucky steals a few sips too. He sure as hell doesn't need to put anything more in his belly, but the carbonation feels good.

Once they're done catching up with Natasha (mostly Steve. Bucky's not in such a chatty mood yet), their little ragtag and overly full family makes their way back to the truck. It always feels longer on the way back.

Bucky can practically feel Steve burning for him across the console the whole drive back. He keeps glancing over at him, licking his lips. Bucky shifts, rearranging his seatbelt around the thick curve of his gut and smirking when Steve groans.

"By the time we get home, I think I might be ready for ya." Bucky smiles to himself, lazily tugging his t-shirt up to expose his belly, tracing his fingertips over the swell. His skin feels so hot and tight, and he's actually starting to come out of the food coma enough to get turned on himself.

"You're a fuckin' hazard, Barnes, that's what you are." Steve looks at him sideways. "Goddamn."

Bucky just smirks.

The dogs bolt for the house as soon as the door opens, and Bucky ambles after them. Steve's almost as fast as the dogs, power-walking ahead to unlock the door. Bucky smacks his ass on the way past; it's a one-track mind kind of day, and he makes a beeline for the living room while Steve gets the dogs fresh water. He's way too full to lie flat in bed if Steve wants him to be any use.

By the time Steve walks in, Bucky's stretched out naked in his recliner. The gasp that greets him is intensely gratifying, and Bucky smirks, sliding his hand down the side of his gut. "You ever wanted to fuck a pie-eating contest champ, kid?"

Steve strips off his shirt and jeans, dropping them on the floor. He's still got a nice little potbelly himself. "Every damn day of my life."

"You still gotta be careful with me," Bucky says as Steve climbs on top of him. The motion makes his belly flip, and he keeps rubbing, trying to settle it. "I'm at least half pie."

"Way more than half." Steve snorts, settling nicely over Bucky's hips, his big hand coming down to wrap around Bucky's cock. "You too full for me to ride you?"

"Aw, shit." Bucky squeezes his eyes shut. He tries to take an internal survey, but it's all pointless; there's no way he's going to turn down the opportunity to lie here like an overstuffed beast of some kind and let Steve do all the work. "Guess not. If that's what you want, darlin'."

Steve stops him with a hard kiss. They've fucked in this chair often enough that there's lube stashed not far away. While he's fishing for it, Steve fiddles with the lever, readjusting the recliner. Bucky grunts, but it is a more comfortable position for this. He rests his hand on the apex of his belly while he watches Steve finger himself. It's quite a show, though not a long one; Steve has always loved to feel the stretch.

Bucky slides his hands under his gut, hefting it up and out of the way so Steve can line himself up properly. Once he sinks down Bucky's cock, Bucky lets his belly go so it can round out against Steve's firm little gut, fat engulfing Steve's own cock.

"That's right, darlin', that's right." He groans as Steve settles in his lap and slides a hand up Steve's thick, strong thigh. "You're so good to me."

"I try." Steve moans. He arches his back, pecs on display just as perky and pretty as any tits, and Bucky would lean in to suck his nipples if he could bend that far. As it is, he's stuck where he is, stretched out in his recliner like the beached whale he is, unable to do anything but watch and feel as Steve rides him for all he's worth.

It doesn't take long for Bucky to come, wound as tightly as he is. Steve keeps grinding against his gut, just on the edge of too much, but Bucky can't bring himself to ask Steve to stop. Not when Steve's all flushed and panting above him, dick smearing precome all over his sensitive skin. Steve gasps when he comes, and promptly leans forward, pressing his whole front against Bucky's to kiss him. Come smears between both of their bellies, and Bucky gasps into Steve's mouth. 

"God, Buck. That was incredible." Steve pulls away, squirming a little on Bucky's lap. 

"So fucking good." Bucky sighs heavily. Any energy he had left was definitely sexual energy; now that that's done, he can already feel his eyelids starting to droop. His body's been working real hard, and he needs to sleep this binge off. "I think I'm down for the count, darlin'."

"Mmm, I could use a nap too." Steve shifts, stretching out. He moves off of Bucky's dick and carefully rearranges himself in the chair, curling up so his cheek is pressing against Bucky's belly, gurgling away even louder after all the activity. "And lucky me, got my own personal white noise machine."

**Author's Note:**

> You can find more of this kink at my [kink tumblr](http://iwritetheweirdstuff.tumblr.com), or general Steve/Bucky goodness at my [main blog!](http://villainsexuale.tumblr.com)


End file.
